A confession from the introvert behind church culture's happiest accident
I need to get something off my chest.
I'm the founder of Popsigns.
Yes, those signs.
The aggressively cheerful, impossibly optimistic, exclamation-point-heavy handheld signs that have swept through church lobbies from Miami to Minneapolis like a pastel-colored plague.
"SO GLAD YOU'RE HERE!"
"YOU BELONG HERE!"
"WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU!"
I know what you're thinking. I've thought it too.
Is this real? Do these people actually feel this way? Or is this just more performative church culture— Fake people with fake smiles and a shiny pic for Instagram with no substance?
Fair questions.
I have some answers. But first, I owe you an apology.
Actually, several.
Apology #1: For the Exclamation Points
I'm sorry for the aggressive punctuation.
In my defense, "You belong here." with a period sounds like a threat.
"You belong here!" sounds like we actually mean it.
We went with enthusiasm.
Sue me.
Elaine Benes gets it.
Apology #2: For Making Randy Feel Inadequate
Over the past 10 years we've made repeated references to a fictional character named Randy.
Randy has been greeting people in the parking lot for 15 years.
Sweaty handshake. Firm grip. "Good to see ya."
Rain or shine, Randy shows up. Randy is faithful.
And now here comes a 22-year-old volunteer with a pastel sign that says "FREE HUGS" and suddenly Randy's wondering if he's been doing it wrong this whole time.
Do we believe in the power of signage? Yes.
Do our signs efficiently greet every guest at once while Randy is still checking the scores on a football game instead of offering that firm, sweaty handshake to a single guest at a time? Yes.
Do we need to drive that point home every time we get a chance at Randy's expense? No.
🙈...we did it again didn't we?
Randy, if you're reading this: you're doing great. The signs are there to serve you. Think of them as your hype man. You're still the main character—Popsigns just amplifies what you're about.
Apology #3: For the Pastel Color Palette
I genuinely don't know how this happened.
We just wanted to make something agreeable. Universally appealing. Classic.
Somewhere along the way, everything became faded yellow, and millennial pink, and that specific shade of white smoke grey that whispers I have a curated Instagram feed and strong opinions about oat milk.
I blame the algorithm. I blame Pinterest. I blame myself.
Apology #4: For Accidentally Starting a Company
This is the one I genuinely didn't see coming.
We made some signs for our church. A couple signs. For ONE launch. We were helping start VOUS Church in Miami, and we wanted guests to feel something different when they arrived. Not the awkward lobby shuffle. Not the is anyone going to talk to me? anxiety.
We wanted them to feel celebrated.
So we made some signs.
Colorful. Friendly. "So Glad You're Here!"
No business plan. No investors. Just a stack of foam board, an Xacto blade, and a vague sense that someone should be holding something when guests arrived.
Ten years later, "Popsigns" has somehow become the globally recognized term for handheld welcome signs at churches. We've served over 10,000 churches worldwide.
I still don't entirely understand how this happened.
Here's Where It Gets Weird
I'm an introvert.
Not the I just need to recharge after social interaction kind.
The I will absolutely pretend to be on my phone to avoid making eye contact with someone that might recognize me at the grocery store kind.
Starting conversations with strangers? Terrifying. Walking into a room where I don't know anyone?
I'd rather chew glass.
The idea of standing in a church lobby, making eye contact with newcomers, initiating small talk?
I would simply not attend church.
And yet somehow I built a company whose entire purpose is helping churches do exactly that—in the most extroverted, exclamation-point-heavy way imaginable.
Explain that to my therapist.
My friend John is not an introvert.
John talks to everyone. Strangers, baristas, the person he just met at the beach—it doesn't matter. Within 30 seconds, John is making plans to hang out with his new best friends.
I used to find this exhausting. Now I find it useful.
Here's what I've noticed: when I'm standing next to John, something shifts.
He opens the conversation. He does the hard part—the initiation, the eye contact, the "hey, I don't think we've met!" And once that door is open, I can walk through it. I can be charming, engaged, even extroverted.
I just can't be the one to knock.
Having a Popsign is like having your own personal John.
They open the door. They do the hard part. They break the ice so that the awkward silence never gets a chance to settle in.
And once that door is open—once your guests feel seen—the actual human connection can happen.
The sign isn't a replacement for community. It's a door-opener for introverts like me who struggle to make the first move.
What the Signs Actually Do
A sign doesn't replace human connection.
But it does something humans struggle to do consistently— it's always on.
A greeter can have an off day. A volunteer can be mid-conversation when someone new walks in. A greeter can accidentally make eye contact with the wrong person while the actual first-time guest slips by unnoticed.
A sign doesn't get tired. A sign doesn't play favorites.
A sign that says "You Belong Here" says it to everyone—the young professional who looks like they have it together, the single mom who's not sure she should've come, and the guy in the parking lot sitting in his car, wondering if this was a mistake.
The Accidental Theology
Here's what I didn't expect to learn from making signs for churches:
Most people are looking for an excuse not to stay.
When someone walks into a church for the first time, there's a mental competition happening. They're carrying every negative assumption they've ever absorbed—that church is boring, that people are judgmental, that they won't fit in.
And they're scanning the room for confirmation.
See? No one said hi. I knew it.
See? Everyone's already in their little groups. I don't belong here.
See? This was a mistake.
You have maybe seven seconds to disrupt that narrative. Some studies say less than one.
That's not a lot of time to communicate we're glad you're here, you're not an interruption, this place is for you too.
But a sign can do it. Instantly. Before anyone says a word.
Is it cheesy? Sure. Performative? Maybe.
But here's the thing about performance: sometimes you have to act welcoming before you feel welcoming. Sometimes the sign is aspirational. Sometimes "You Belong Here" is a declaration the church is making to itself as much as to the guest.
We're going to be the kind of place where people belong. Even if we have to hold a sign to remind ourselves.
The Story About My Friend Woo
I need to tell you about my friend Woo.
Woo was not the type of person you'd find in church. He probably hadn't been in years—maybe ever. And honestly, he was the kind of person who wouldn't feel welcome in most churches.
He knew it.
But something was stirring in him. A friend invited him to come that Sunday with a promise, this would be different.
So he decided to give it a shot.
That morning, Woo pulled into the parking lot and sat in his car.
He didn't get out.
He was second-guessing everything. It had been so long since he'd been in a place like this. He didn't know what to expect. He didn't know anybody. He felt like he didn't belong—like he didn't fit.
Why was he even there?
He was about to drive away.
Then he looked through his car window and saw something that felt like fate.
Someone was holding a sign that said, "You Belong Here."
It caught him off guard. It spoke to him. And it gave him the push he needed to get out of the car.
Once he took that first step, things got better. People were friendly. It wasn't stuffy. It felt like a place that could actually offer community.
In that service, Woo gave his life to Jesus.
But here's what happened after:
Woo became a deep and integral part of the church. He led groups. He joined volunteer teams. He became a central figure—a staple in our community. He brought so many people from his own life to experience the same thing he did.
He met his wife at church. Got married. Built a family.
His entire life trajectory changed because of what he saw through his car window that morning. All because of a sign.
So yeah. I'm sorry about the exclamation points. I'm sorry about Randy.
But I'm not sorry about that.
The Final Apology
I'm sorry that this essay was basically a long advertisement for Popsigns disguised as a confession.
In my defense, I'm an introvert.
This is the only way I know how to start a conversation.
If you're still reading, thanks for staying with me through the initial awkwardness.
10 years ago I would have never expected to be running a company like Popsigns.
I never would have thought these little signs would be welcoming people all over the world and helping people to feel accepted, seen, and loved.
And hey, if the signs aren't for you I'm OK with that too.
But if you ever need a sign—you know where to find me.
